Last week, we cleared our heads and palates with bracing juniper. This week, I'm getting carried away with caraway, that warming, earthy spice that's so delicious in everything from hefty winter stews to delicate biscuits and cakes. I love its complexity. It's robust, with a distinct, aniseedy flavour, but it also has more subtle, sweet citrus aromas. It even has a slightly minty note that, when combined with citrus in particular, becomes more pronounced.

In Britain, we've been sprinkling, toasting and grinding caraway for quite a while. Richard II's master cooks included a liberal sprinkling of caraway in the 14th-century cookbook A Forme Of Cury, and in Elizabethan times cakes and biscuits containing caraway were common. At the end of meals, caraway comfits – the seeds coated in sugar – were served with spiced wine to aid digestion. We seemed to fall out of love with caraway for a bit, but with the arrival of a German consort at court, the Victorians went mad for the stuff, embracing the Germanic passion for caraway in baking with just as much enthusiasm as they did Christmas trees.

Caraway is one of the world's oldest seasonings and a great deal of folklore surrounds these tiny brown "seeds" (those brown, ridged, crescent-shaped beauties are not technically seeds, but the split, dried fruit). It's associated with fidelity and was often used in love potions. And it was believed that possessions couldn't be lost, stolen or mislaid if they contained a few seeds (maybe I should tape a few to my car keys). In the same spirit, country folk fed caraway to geese and pigeons to ensure they always returned.

In the kitchen, caraway is hugely useful. Like juniper, it cuts through richness in a remarkable way, which explains its affinity with pork and other rich meat dishes. It's used in pâtés and sausages, and to add depth to meaty stews such as goulash. And it is very good with sharp, nutty cheese, too (see today's tart).

Caraway also adds depth of flavour to vegetables, particularly potatoes and cabbage (see today's soup). It's a regular component of sauerkraut and makes a tasty addition to coleslaws. It's brilliant in baking, too. In Britain, we've traditionally added it to biscuits and, of course, to seed cake – historically, this was baked by farmers' wives to celebrate the end of wheat sowing and given to farm workers.

If you want to grow your own caraway (Carum carvi), it's reasonably undemanding and thrives in most soils, though it prefers a sunny spot. Sow in early autumn or spring, cover with 1cm of soil and keep as weed-free as possible. Harvest the seeds (aka fruits) about a month after the flowers have faded and the seeds are brown. Cut the stems when the dew is still on them, so you don't scatter the seeds, tie the heads in a paper bag and hang upside down for 10 days. Shake out the seeds and leave them in a cool, dry place on kitchen paper to dry out for a further 10 days. Store in an airtight container.

Of course, the seeds are the main event, but one of the advantages of growing your own is that you can also enjoy other parts of the caraway plant. The leaves can be snipped and added to salads, creamy sauces, coleslaws and potato salads, or used as a seasoning for fish. You can even bake or boil the root, just as you would parsnips or carrots.

Caraway and orange seed cake

This simple cake is great with a cup of tea. It keeps well for a few days in an airtight tin – if anything, it tastes even better. Makes one 22cm cake.

Heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Lightly grease a 22cm spring-form cake tin, line with baking parchment and butter the parchment.

Into a bowl, sift the flour, mace, nutmeg and salt. In another bowl, cream the butter and caster sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition, then beat in the caraway, orange zest and candied peel. Fold in the flour until just combined, then stir in the milk and brandy. Spoon into the tin and smooth with a spatula. Sprinkle the demerara evenly over the top and bake for 45 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean. Leave in the tin for 10 minutes, then turn out on to a rack to cool completely.

Cabbage and caraway soup

Cabbage and bacon are both very good with caraway. Serves four to six.

In a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan, warm the butter over a medium heat and cook the bacon pieces until they take on some colour. Reduce the heat to low, add the onion and bay, and cook, stirring from time to time, until the onion is soft and translucent, about 15 minutes. Add the garlic and caraway, and stir for a few minutes. Tip in the cabbage and potatoes, and cook for five minutes, stirring occasionally.

Pour over enough stock to cover, season with pepper, bring to the boil and simmer for 15 minutes, until the potatoes are tender. Season to taste. For a creamier soup, whizz a couple of cupfuls of the soup in a blender and return to the pan.

Keep the soup warm while you make the croutons. Warm the oil over a medium heat and fry the bread cubes until golden. Ladle the soup into warmed bowls and sprinkle the croutons on the top..

Onion and gruyère tart with caraway pastry (V)

Caraway goes very well with cheese – some toasted, ground seeds in the pastry gives it an extra kick. Serves six to eight.

First make the pastry. Put the caraway in a small, dry frying pan over medium heat and toast until just fragrant. With a pestle and mortar, grind with the salt until fine. Put the caraway, flour and butter into a food processor and pulse until it resembles coarse breadcrumbs. Add the egg yolk (retain white), pulse a couple of times, then slowly add milk, pulsing as you go, stopping when it comes together into a dough (you may not need all the milk). Knead gently, pat it together into a disc, wrap in clingfilm and chill for 30 minutes.

Warm the butter in a frying pan on medium-low heat. Add the caraway and thyme, fry gently for a minute, then add the onions and sauté for 20 minutes, stirring from time to time, until soft and slightly golden. Cool.

Heat the oven to 180C/350F/gas mark 4. Roll out the pastry on a lightly floured surface and use it to line a 23cm loose-based tart tin – let the excess hang over the sides. Line with baking parchment, weigh down with baking beans or uncooked rice, place on a baking sheet and bake for 15 minutes. Remove the parchment and beans, prick the base all over with a fork and brush lightly with the leftover egg white. Return to the oven for 10 minutes, until the base is dried out and lightly golden. Trim the excess pastry from the sides.

Mix the onions with half the cheese and spoon into the tart. Whisk the cream with the eggs, season and pour over the onions. Scatter on the rest of the cheese and bake for 30-35 minutes